


Hanging by a Thread

by shuns



Category: Cinderella (1950), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sleeping Beauty (1959)
Genre: AU, Adventure, Arcomantulas ... so if you don't like spiders, Complete, EWE, F/M, FOTR Disney BTSS 2019, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Job Loss, Magical Fashion, Narcissa Andromeda and Pansy are planning Hermione's Wedding, Prompt: Fairy Godmothers - All of Them, Ron Bashing, Sexual Tension, Sorry Not Sorry, Taxes are a bitch even when you are a wizard, What Could Possibly Go Wrong?, here is your warning, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-18 17:12:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19338934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuns/pseuds/shuns
Summary: Andromeda Tonks, Narcissa Malfoy, and Pansy Parkinson - you could not find three witches less like the benevolent Fairy Godmothers from Hermione's ill-advised Disney Movie Night's for Teddy. Though if you asked they all secretly want to be Cinderella.But before you can say "Bibbity-Bobbity-Bitch", Hermione's Wedding will be here. Hopefully, so will her dress. Between a job loss, outrageous French custom duties, an unauthorized trip to the Forbidden Forest and a certain red-headed former dragonologist turned Care of Magical Creatures professor, Pansy is at her wit's end,Hanging by a Thread.





	1. Say Yes to the Dress

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [TheFairestOfTheRare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFairestOfTheRare/pseuds/TheFairestOfTheRare) in the [BTSS2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/BTSS2019) collection. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [HeartSandwich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartSandwich/pseuds/HeartSandwich), you are the best of betas, who didn't bat an eye on Thursday when I asked you to read through this!  
> WARNING - If spiders creep you out, this is not the story for you. My normal alpha reader blanched when I told her the plot and premise, she passed on reading because she hates their hairy legs. 
> 
> **Prompt:**  
>  Fairy Godmothers (any of them)  
> A/N shuns - or all of them!

 

 

“It should be blue.”

“No, pink.”

“BLUE!”

“PINK!”

With a swish and flick, the formerly silvery gown was now a soft shade of blue. “Blue is subtle and dignified. Pink is insipid and will make her look sallow and haggard,” Narcissa had accepted that Hermione’s coloring was darker, but the curls made up for it. Oh, her grandchildren were going to be adorable cherubs.

Andromeda shot a spell at the dress, just missing Narcissa, and it turned a delicate shade of pink. The underskirt was the bright, bubblegum pink that Nymphadora had favored. “Pink is for love and tenderness, the color of contentment and softens frustration. Perhaps, it will help you get over this disappointing obsession with blue."

The door banged open, a shocked Hermione and enraged Pansy stood at the threshold. “I swear to Salazar if you spoiled the fabric with your spells, I will end you both. Do you know what I had to do to get this much Acromantula silk, _for fuck’s sake_?”

Both Black sisters both turned to her and shouted, “LANGUAGE!”

Pansy took advantage of their momentary distraction to return Hermione Granger’s wedding dress robes to silvery white the witch had requested. “This is why I need a shop,” she muttered as she pushed Hermione to the mirrors. She looked over her shoulder at the glaring sisters, “Her cake won’t bake itself, nor will the flowers arrange themselves, spontaneously. Come on, witches. We promised this bride the wedding of a lifetime. The full fairy godmother treatment.” Both sisters left the room with a huff. Pansy was sure she heard Narcissa say, “Bippity Boppity - _Bitch”_ as she breezed past. Pansy shot a hex at her backside. The yelp and the basilisk glare were totally worth it.  

Hermione wiggled into the gown for her final fitting. She really did look like Cinderella, just as promised. All those hours of watching the 'movie' as Hermione called it had paid off. Pansy dropped to her knees to work on the hem. “You would think it was their wedding. You must be sick to death of their fussing. They aren’t even family. How do you tolerate them?” Pansy looked up and saw Hermione had gone still and tight. She sighed; she’d stepped on Hermione’s feelings yet again. Anything to do with family or Hermione’s lack thereof turned her fierce friend into a lost, little kitten. “Hermione, I didn’t mean it. Fuck. I’m sorry.”  

“No it's just - when I imagined my wedding, I thought it would be different. I certainly didn’t think that we would get kicked out of Twillfitt and Tattings.” Hermione smiled down at Pansy.

Pansy nodded. Watching Andromeda hex the shopkeeper into a parrot after he had called Narcissa ' _Death Eater whore'_ had been one of the more satisfying moments in the last year, which had seen high highs and low lows. It was yet another reason she couldn’t wait to open up Pandora’s Box. Owning her own robe shop had been Pansy’s dream since she was a little witch. She’d thought she would have to give up between the War, then the disastrous betrothal with the ancient hunchback from Trier her mother had tried to affiance her too. It had ended in her disownment, not that there had been much left anyway.

She had swallowed her pride and taken a shop witch position at Madam Malkin's. Pansy had tried to hide when she saw Hermione, but one of the designers had convinced her an absolute fashion don't would be perfect for her. _No one_ looked good in paisley. They had been trying to move that putrid set of robes for months. Pansy couldn’t help herself when she said, “Patterns with that hair? People will hex their eyelids shut to avoid seeing it. ”

Hermione had turned red. The designer hissed "Quiet Death Eater Whore," and jinxed Pansy’s mouth away. Hermione was shocked at her treatment and immediately applied the counter-jinx. She took off the obnoxious set of robes and stomped out of the dressing room, grabbing Pansy’s hand on the way. She threw open the door with a crash and loudly informed Madam Malkin that she would not be purchasing any robes today, the only reason she had stopped in was to meet her _very good friend Pansy_ for lunch. Pansy was pulled down the street by the 'Brightest Witch of Her Age' and found her self sitting in a small tea shop around the corner from the sweatshop she had just escaped from with a cup of tea and a lavender biscuit.  

Hermione plonked down across from her a bit out of breath, but flushed and triumphant. “The War is over. It’s time to move on, don’t you think?” Pansy nodded, but six years of animosity doesn’t fade quickly. They had an awkward tea, the weather was a safe topic, but their health was too fraught with painful reminders. When they parted ways, Pansy thought 'that was that.' 

Then Hermione appeared the following week - Madam Malkin fell over herself to let Pansy take an actual break. Everyone loved "The Brightest" as the _Prophet_ had dubbed her. They did a bit better that week.  They talked about Ginny’s tragic photoshoot with _Witch Weekly_. Hermione told her that Molly had sent three Howlers about the tawdry robes they had put her in.

Pansy rolled her eyes; the Weasley matriarch was a peasant. It explained so much about Ron. “They should never have put her in yellow. The Harpies have two colors, yellow and blue. Besides, the cut was all wrong.” Pansy conjured a pencil and started sketching on the napkin. If she had designed Ginny’s robes, they would have been a short A-line to show off her legs and see-through sleeves with her arms peeking out in a lighter shade of blue to contrast against the bodice of the bright blue that would make her hair shine. It was her best feature, even if she didn't like the bint. She looked up to see Hermione staring at her.

“Pansy, these are really good. Really, _very_ good." Hermione cast a _muffliato_ and an array of other privacy wards, half which Pansy wasn't even sure what they were guarding against. Then Hermione leaned in, "I have a confession. I hate the robes from Madam Malkin’s; they never fit me right.” She gestured to her bust. ”I am afraid to go into Twillfitt and Tattings. I can’t wear muggle clothes, because I get hate mail. Did you know when I appeared in jeans in _Witch Weekly?_ I got twenty howlers. Twenty! Who cares about stupid clothes. But this is beautiful.” She touched the drawing on the napkin with a finger tracing the skirt. She looked up at Pansy with big kitten eyes. It was the most vulnerable she had ever seen the Great Hermione Granger. “This is like something a princess would wear. D-d-do you think you could make me this?”

Pansy was caught back-footed; this was not how she expected today to go. “I don’t have my sketches with me. What if I bring them next time?” Hermione smiled and nodded, looking relieved - another thing she had never seen from Hermione Granger. This was very odd, almost like being in an alternative universe. 

When they met up next, Hermione explained to Pansy how Harry had given her proxy over the Black and Potter Wizengamot seats. Hermione was so full of ideas but frustrated because she was thwarted at every turn. The silly fool thought having a vote was enough. No one was taking her seriously. Pansy knew that as a Muggle-born, Hermione was making a dozen little mistakes that would set the Old Guard off, like being photographed in muggle clothes. By the end of the meal, Pansy had talked herself hoarse on subtle social cues and dressing for success, as her mother had called it. Iris Parkinson was a complete and utter cow but a cow that had started at least two enduring fashion trends - moving embroidery and a bust holding charm that did away with corsets or brasseries.  Hermione commissioned six new robes from Pansy that day, including a much more stylish take on her Wizengamot robes in a light crepe.

The weekly teas became twice a week. Then every other day. When Pansy had the first of the robes for fitting, they couldn’t do at the shop or in Hermione’s tiny flat. This is how Pansy found herself outside of a pretty cottage in the Cotswolds.

Pansy had known Narcissa Malfoy most of her life but was surprised when she met Andromeda Tonks. The sisters looked very similar, black hair, grey eyes, broom straight backs, but they couldn’t have been less alike. Meda, as she insisted Pansy call her, was warmth, elegance, and sly winks. The way she wrangled little Teddy, it was hard to believe she was his grandmother and not his actual mother. Hermione was Teddy's godmother and occasional babysitter. Pansy started working at Andromeda’s house a few nights a week. It was like having an aunt that she wanted to visit, even little Teddy was growing on her. Pansy would let him sit with her if Andromeda needed to run an errand. 

When the new robes were finished, Hermione had paraded around the Cottage in them, twirling and giggling like a little girl. Pansy was proud of her work. “I have a surprise for you,” Hermione said. The Floo flared, and a photographer stepped out followed by Lavender Brown. “I asked _Witch Weekly_ to take pictures.” They posed and talked for hours. The idea was Pansy and Hermione would both be featured in the article talking about moving on from the War and doing bigger better things. Pansy tried to play it off casually, but she was so excited. Finally, her life was starting. She was on her way. 

Pansy had forgotten just what a bitch Fortuna was. She shouldn't have been surprised when her luck ran out. It always did. When the _Witch Weekly_ article appeared, three things happened. First, Madam Malkin fired her. She didn't even get severance. She had precisely five galleons and 30 sickles to her name. Second, because part of her pay was a room above the shop, she was now homeless and her pitiful savings she would get her exactly one night at the Leaky Cauldron. Crying, she apparated blind and was surprised when she stood in front of the Tonk's Cottage. She collected herself, but when Meda opened the door, the tears welled up again. The older witched wrapped her in a hug then poured cup upon cup of sweet, hot tea into her. She listened to Pansy fret about what she would do. No job, no roof over her head. Most of the money she had earned from Hermione's commissions went to fabric, notions, and the tools she needed to make the robes.

She was staring at her empty cup, contemplating how much she had in common with the dregs, then the third thing happened.  Meda reached out and grabbed her hand, “Pansy, why don’t you move in with us? We have a room. Your sewing kit is already here. Teddy loves you. And I, well, it’s good to have you here.”

Pansy was shocked. Since her disownment. She had seen her mother exactly twice, and both times she had looked through Pansy like she was a stranger. It had chilled Pansy to the bone, even though it was summer. “You would really want me?” She hated how small her voice sounded. 

Meda smiled and patted her hand, “I miss Nymphadora. I know you aren’t her. But before you came, I was talking to the air, Pansy. Having you here has been a balm for my soul.” Both women started crying. It had turned into a Celestina Warbeck song; the only good thing was her familiar hadn't died nor had Gringott’s taken her galleons. They probably would have continued hugging and crying, if there hadn’t been pecking at the window. Meda used her wand to clean up Pansy's tear-stained face, a charm she had seen her use on Teddy dozens of times. The simple action warmed the cold place in her heart left by her mother.  

A majestic eagle owl swooped in and dropped a letter in front of Pansy. But it wasn’t the only one. Four other owls followed it in. She opened up the letters. The first was from Narcissa Malfoy. She had seen Pansy’s work in _Witch Weekly,_ and she wanted to know if Pansy could accommodate designing a gown for the upcoming Imbolc festival. She opened the others, and there were a total of 8 different commissions. Pansy sat back gobsmacked.    

The commissions had tailed off as the year went on, but with careful planning and saving, she had gathered enough to rent a small storefront near Twillfitt and Tattings. She planned to open after Hermione’s Wedding. _The Dress_ was her gift to Hermione. And as the most photographed and talked of garment this year, so help her Salazar, it would give a boost to her business, she was a Slytherin, why not kill two doxies with one curse? It needed to be perfect down to the last tuck, gather, and stitch, even if she had to get the damn Acromantula silk herself.


	2. A Tangled Web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy's plan for world domination of Wizarding Fashion unfolds or maybe comes apart at the seams. 
> 
> The Reader: Is it time for them to kiss yet?  
> The Jerk Author: (Shaking head) Sorry, no slow burn. I promise to make it (mostly) worth the wait.  
> The Reader: (Huffing) You had better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again HeartSandwich for being the wind beneath my wings fixing all the commas and seeing my hunchback issues only for me to completely ignore your brilliant changes because I had already transferred this part to AO3. I do not deserve you or your clever eyes. 
> 
> Also thanks to [Katalina_Riddle ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katalina_Riddle/pseuds/Katalina_Riddle) whose prompt tiles were the inspiration for the 'if a dream is a wish your heart makes' line. I steal only from the best.

_Get the damn silk myself, what was I thinking?_

Pansy’s owls had gone unanswered for weeks. Minerva needed to pull the broom out of her ass. The _Dress_ was for Hermione, the teacher’s pet, the Golden Gryffindor, 'The Brightest.' So what if Pansy had tried to hand over Potter to the Dark Lord? That was five years, disownment, and a dead-end job, ago. All she was asking for was access to the Forbidden Forest. _I’ll probably die in there that should make the dusty, old harridan happy_. 

There were only two good things that came out of the one month  _Fling? Mistake? Disaster?_ whatever-it-was she’d had with Ron Weasely. She'd learned what she did NOT want when it came to sex, and that there was a colony of Acromantula living in the Forbidden Forest. Of course, it had taken her a nightmare to remember. She had tried to blot out the whatever-it-was with Ron because it had been ill-advised, _shocker there_.  

When she told Hermione about Ron, it was in a very unsubtle, unSlytherin moment. “I fucked Ron.” 

She was certain Hermione would storm out, throwing jinxes, if not curses. Instead, she went quiet, her face cycling through emotions almost too fast to register. “Well, I guess fair is fair. I’m fucking Draco.” 

Pansy has known about them ages ago, but she was trying to avoid drama, and Draco was nothing but. “You are welcome to the full-on opera production that is Draco Malfoy.” 

“He really is, isn’t he? So - Ron - does he still do that thing with the tongue? You know, that weird flutter? It’s awful, isn't it?”

From dissecting Ron's quirks, they moved on to Harry's cute bum, and the tragedy it was that Theo was a wizard's wizard. 

“So, if we are swapping boys, Granger, who should I be on the lookout for next? Mine was Marcus Flint. Sorry.” 

Hermione’s winced, “Ugh, those teeth. Well, besides Ron, and for five seconds, Harry, there’s only one other wizard I fancied. But he is so out of my league that I never said anything. That, and he’s one of Ron’s brothers.”

Pansy’s groan started in her toes, “Please don’t tell me its Percy? You wouldn’t do that to me. I thought we were friends?”

Hermione got a queer look on her face. She opened her mouth and shut it two times. When Pansy thought about what she had just said, she wanted to hide. Of course, they weren’t friends. But Hermione shocked her. “Of course, we are friends, Pansy. But you can’t tell anyone this, and I’ll never hear the end of it.” She leaned in and whispered like there weren’t a dozen privacy wards and charms in place, “It’s Charlie, Charlie Weasely.”

Pansy had to think; there were so many Weasely’s. “Curse-Breaker?” That would make sense; a sexy swot, curse breakers were brilliant. 

Hermione pinked, “No, he’s a Dragon Tamer. Well, dragonologist. He was promoted after finishing his training. He really is so clever...” Her voice trailed off as she realized she was gushing about someone who was very much, not her boyfriend. 

“Oh you little minx, I didn’t know you had it in you. Or maybe this is a sad case of _not_ having it in you.”

Hermione had rolled her eyes and changed the subject to fabrics, which made Pansy cringe. She had been to three different fabric houses, including one in France where she had finally found the perfect silk with the silver shimmer just like Cinderella’s for the _Dress_. It would be a dream to work with, but then the prat of the salesman told her the price. Even before the duties, it was expensive, but after them would leave her knutless. She had promised Hermione the perfect princess dress, but it would cost her the store. 

That night she tossed and turned, her dreams unsettled. She was running in a forest, chasing the French salesman and he was laughing and teasing her with the beautiful silver silk. It kept slipping through her fingers. The Frenchman’s face lightened, his hair turned red, and he morphed into Ron. This was the Ron from their break-up when he told her she was nothing, she meant nothing to him, and she would be nothing. A mean sneer wrapped around his face. The silk flew at her, winding around her body and darkening to an inky black. Her body was stretching, legs thinning. She screamed in agony as four new legs burst out of her sides, now her thorax. She was towering over him, all eight of him, her eyes had compounded. Silk shot out of her abdomen and wound around each of his arms and legs separately. She tugged at them, and he screamed. “The only thing about you I loved was that you were forbidden. Once I had you, then you were nothing.” His words hurt. She wanted to hurt him back. She pulled at the silks, and he came apart like a poorly made doll. 

She woke up panting, covered in sweat and tangled in her sheets. _If a dream is a wish your heart makes, then apparently I want to rip Ron into pieces._  

Pansy used her wand to raise the lights and pulled out her sketch pad. It helped her think. She had an itch at the back of her brain. Something about Ron and the forest. He had called her a nothing before. Those words still rang in her head. But forbidden, that was new. Her pencil flew as she worked on a tricky bit of sashing for a day robe when it hit her right between the eyes. The Acromantula colony that lived in the _Forbidden_ Forest. Ron was scared of spiders and had vivid nightmares because of what had happened to him in the Forbidden Forest. If she could capture a spider, she could have all the silk for the dress. But if she had a few, she could have enough for her business. It was a way undercut her competition. Everyone knew that Acromantula silk was the best because it was so bloody expensive.  

What she needed was a cup of tea, a cunning plan, and Jenny. 

* * *

Pansy's memories had run away with her while she waited at the Hogwarts Gate for someone to fetch her. It was cool, and the light was fading fast. She expected the lumbering half-blood giant or Neville Longbottom, which would be awkward given what happened when she had last met his grandmother. At the crunch of gravel, she looked up to meet the barrel of a crossbow with the bolt nocked and ready to fly. A tallish, scruffy, scarred Ginger man eyed her.

She wrinkled her nose because he smelled like all the bad things in the world. She took her wand out slowly, “I’m just going to cast a refreshing charm.” Pansy favored vetiver because she liked the smell of freshly mown grass, and it was calming. As the refreshing scent wafted over them, the lopsided grin, he gave her transformed his face. It was like all the best parts of Ron were condensed. She decided to risk it, and she nudged his crossbow to the side with the tip of her wand, “My name is Miss Pansy Parkinson. I’m here…”

“I know who you are Lady Parkinson.” She wasn’t a lady any more thanks to Mummy Dearest, but the way he said it made her want to be. “Come on then, M’lady,  I’ll take you to the head dragon.” 

If he was referring to the Headmistress, then he was spot on.

Pansy sat across from the Headmistress, trying to follow what McGonagall was saying, but it was all very Scottish. So far, she'd understood, ‘foolish business over a dress,’ but was about it. Pansy could have explained to her how controlling a rare commodity, locally, would give her business an unparalleled advantage to crush her competition and eventually dominate not only fashion but any other goods made from Acromantula silk as well. She could do, but she wouldn’t. McGonagall didn’t need to know her business plan.

But she didn’t expect the Headmistress to tell her flat out, no. “I would rather you not get eaten on school property, Miss Parkinson. Professor Weasely will walk you back to the gate. Keep out of mischief.” She wasn’t sure if the warning was for her or him. French taxes and Scottish Headmistresses be damned, she was getting her silk tonight, one way or another. 

The walk back to the gate seemed to take much longer than the walk-in. She glanced at her companion. “You don’t look like a Weasley.” His hair was a dark auburn, eyes a deeper blue and he was solid and thick, not gangly. He moved beautifully, like a predator, and he was so quiet it was eerie.   

He quirked an eyebrow, “Red Hair, blue eyes, devilishly handsome. Excellent a quidditch. I tick all the Weasely boxes, M’lady.”

“You’re missing the vacant expression.”

He snorted, “No, that’s just Ron.” She snapped her mouth shut. Only Hermione and Andromeda knew about Ron, or so she hoped. "I asked Sluggie about you while you were in with the Headmistress. You know it was the first time he shut up all year? So what’s your story then? It must be good to shut him up.”

“Oh, did you didn't know? I’m the pariah. I suggested we hand over Potter at the Last Battle. So I’m That-Bitch-Who-Turned-On-The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice. Then I got myself disowned. Fired from my job. And now here I am,  **[Begging for Thread](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12970488/1/Begging-for-Thread).** ”

He whistled, “Well now, that’s quite a list and a name. Need a heavy-duty feather-light charm for it to float.” 

He had no idea how heavy her baggage was, but that was not open for discussion. “Past history. I’ve clawed my way back. And nobody, including you, will make me feel small about what I did back then. I was trying to survive. Now I have business in the Forbidden Forest, and neither you nor some dried up old hag of a Headmistress is going to stop me.” She didn’t remember how her finger ended up poking his chest, but she noted how solid and firm it was.    

He pushed her finger aside. “I let the past stay there, M'lady. As you said, it’s history. And I'm taking you to the Forest. I don't like it when Minnie tells me what not to do. You aren’t going there alone. I’ve met those spiders, and they’re cunning, nasty, and fast. Without me, you’ll just be a tasty snack. Why are you going into the forest anyway?”

“I told you, business.”

“Business?” 

“As in, _mind your own_.” He was dumbstruck for a moment then shook his head, chuckling. She heard him say 'mental,' but he was already a few feet ahead of her. Lighting her wand, she hung back a bit longer to enjoy the view. He could give Potter's cute bum a run for his galleons. Charlie was fit, front and back. 

Well done, Hermione.

* * *

They moved through the forest, the thick canopy of the trees blotting out any light from the moon. The tip of his wand was bright enough to show the path. They had been silent most of the way, and Pansy’s thoughts were whirring between the best way to keep the spiders talking for long enough and avoiding roots that snagged her boots. Perhaps a three-inch heel was not as practical as she thought. But they did make her legs look long.

“I heard you’re staying with Madame Tonks and taking care of Teddy.” He held out his hand to help her over a protruding obstacle.

“Yes, she’s been very kind.” Where was _this_ going?

“So, you like kids?”

Pansy had lived through a brutal tea with Augusta Longbottom where the matron attempted to measure Pansy’s hips. 'Attempted,' because Pansy had incinerated her hat and most of her hair before the tape measure touched her, thus ending the putative Longbottom/Parkinson betrothal. After that, Pansy was blackballed from Britain by the match-making matrons. Iris Parkinson had to leave the country to find the next match, which is how Pansy had ended up in Trier with a 200-year-old hunchback. Pansy knew a pick-up line when she heard it. Really, Charlie was about as subtle as a _Bombarda_. 

“Listen, Big Red, it’s nice of you to ask, but I’m not interested.”

“What?”

“You just asked me about kids. It's some weird Weasley pick-up, line right?”

“Godric no, I was trying to make conversation. I want to know about Tonks' kid. I was close friends with her in school, but we lost touch when I went to Romania. After the War, I didn’t know how to talk to Andromeda or Tonks’ little boy.”

Pansy wasn’t going to share that the day Meda took her in was by far the happiest day of her life. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him how every night before Meda went to bed she checked on Teddy and then on Pansy. Nor, how every night Pansy stayed awake, feigning sleep to hear the door click and have a sliver of light fall on her face as Meda looked in because she cared. Those were her special moments. 

If she was honest with herself, and today she was trying for honesty, she didn't want to share Meda or Teddy with him. But Hermione's voice, ever-present in her head, challenged her to open up and show a bit of fucking vulnerability. Well, the fucking bit was probably more Pansy than Hermione. But he was cute, and it wouldn't be the worst thing to see him again. Maybe he didn't chew with his mouth open like Ron.   

“Meda’s well. She takes tea at four every day. Hermione comes over at least once a week, and she usually brings strays. So if you want to join, it wouldn’t be a problem. It’s not like you need an engraved invitation.” There was a time when a visit to any Black would have required it, but Pansy quite liked the new world of no calling cards, no polite snubs, and muggle yoga pants.

He was quiet. Now spider silk festooned the trees. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. His breath warmed her ear and stirred her hair. “I’ve never met a Slytherin who didn’t have a cunning plan. But this could go south very fast, yeah? If it does, grab onto me. I have a port key that will take us back to the doors of Hogwarts. Okay?” He pointed to his wrist, then smirked, adding, “M’lady.” 

Salazar's Rod, they were about to confer with fucking Acromantulas, and he was flirting. “Stop calling me that.”

“What? M’lady, M’Lady?”

“I’m not a lady anymore.”

“You are a lady. But if we aren’t careful, you’ll be a tasty morsel. And that would be a shame because if anyone is going to be eating you, it’ll be me.” Yes, McGonagall was definitely talking about him when she'd said 'Keep out of mischief.' Between his insinuation and his smile, right now all Pansy wanted was to get into mischief with this insufferable man.  

Time to change the subject. “I have their tasty morsel right here in the bag.” She couldn’t tell him any more, because if he knew her plan, he would throw her over his shoulder and run away. Not the worst outcome, but it wouldn't help her business.   

The forest had gone quiet and was dark. She linked her arm around his. It wasn’t doing anything for her tough-girl persona, but she didn’t want to feel alone. 

“We could turn back.” 

“No, I’m doing this. The French can kiss my duty-free fanny. I am going to give Hermione the wedding dress of her dreams.” _And build a fucking fashion empire._

They entered a clearing where a huge spider the size of an Abraxan stood in the center. None of the eight shiny black eyes moved, but she felt like she was being followed. She heard skittering and clacking; she couldn't see them, but she knew they were surrounded by the rest of the colony. The queen was hiding somewhere with her egg sac. It would all be down to luck, timing, and Jenny. 

“Greetings, humans. You are bold to enter our domain.” The Acromantula’s voice rasped and grated on the ears. 

“Greetings, Nurtu. I come with a witch who begs a favor from you.” Charlie looked towards her, brows raised, prompting her to speak.

Pansy stepped forward and opened the bag that Hermione had charmed for her. She tipped it upside down and Jenny, her Demiguise, dropped out. Jenny, nonplussed by the scene, scratched her arse, and stared at the large Acromantula. The excitement from the spiders was palpable. Basilisks preyed on Acromantula, but Acromantula dined on Demiguises. Out of the corner of her eye, Pansy could see a bright yellow spider much larger than the rest. _And here’s the queen._ She had their attention; this might work.

“I bring you an offering and a bargain. Find the Demiguise, and you can keep her. Don’t, and you give me your egg sac.” The collective hiss and the clacks of indignant spiders almost drowned out the rush of blood pounding in her ears. Pansy was gambling on the Queen darting back to her egg sac, Jenny’s speed to follow her, and Charlie’s portkey to get them out of there.

She nodded, and Jenny flashed away. She saw shadows moving, in pursuit. Gods, the Acromantulas had been so close.     

Unmoved in the central clearing, Nurtu asked, “What’s to stop us from eating you right now and hunting down the Demiguise as we please?” 

“If I lose, I’ll be back with another Demiguise because I want that egg sac. Do you want to raise more children for wizards to hunt? I can give them work making silk. They will be protected, far from wizards or centaurs hunting them.” McGonagall had instituted an annual hunt to cull the Acromantula population. Wizards came from far and wide to kill them for sport or gain. With the yearly Hunt, and centaurs killing them year-round, the dwindling number of spiders had allowed wildlife to rebound in the Forest, according to Hermione. 

“My children will not be slaves to wizards.”

Pansy stood her ground, "They won't be." Time was running down. She linked her arm firmly around Charlie’s. She could hear the spiders returning, wheezing, and hissing as they went. She counted to five, then ten, then fifteen; the skittering was so close. Then Pansy felt a heavy weight on her back. Jenny had returned. With a tug on the right side of her hair, she sighed; a successful venture then. 

The webs near them were moving. It was time to go. 

Pansy grabbed Charlie’s wrist, pulling the bead on the bracelet to activate the port key. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you feeling the burn? One more chapter to go and I have some 'tasty morsels' planned for you.


	3. Hot for Teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we begin where we started with Hermione's Dress.  
> After a bit of smut.  
> Okay, a lot of smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed one more time by HeartSandwich. Thank you for telling me to stick a fork in it or I would have gone on editing - forever. And to lunalunemoon my ever faithful reader. This chapter has a title because of you.  
> Also, thank you to YOU, the readers. I appreciate your hits, kudos, and comments. I, in fact, roll around in them because they feel so good. 
> 
> Sorry that was weird.  
> But true.

They landed at the doors of Hogwarts. She was in his arms, pressed to his chest with a Demiguise on her back and an Acromantula egg sac in her possession. It wasn't the worst date she ever had.    

“I should turn you in," he rumbled. _Or maybe not._  

Pansy looked at Charlie, searching his face for a clue to his thoughts. Then he smirked, he was fucking with her. “But you won’t.” She unwound herself from him and took a step back. His grin was so much like Teddy’s when she let him sneak a cookie before lunch.

“No, I won’t turn you in, Pansy. That was the most fun I’ve had in months. Come on then; I’ll walk you to the gates.”

“You called me Pansy. So we are using first names, now? I am so honored, Charlie.” She was mocking him right up until she said his name. Unbidden a thought raced through her mind, screaming his name while clutching his hair. 

It took a shake to come back to reality, she helped Jenny down, took the egg sac from her paws, then stowed the small grey-brown sac, safely. Pansy had created an indestructible case to transport the eggs. With literally _all of her eggs in one basket,_ she wasn’t leaving anything to chance. She could have asked Hermione's help, but then she would want to know what the case was for and would have tried to talk her out of the mad plan to capture Acromantulas or insisted she come along. Draco would lose it if she endangered his fiancee.

“You are full of surprises. Care to share with me how you got a Demiguise?”

Pansy lifted Jenny up, resting her on a hip with Jenny’s arms around her neck. She buried her nose in Jenny’s soft, long hair. “Jenny was my Mother’s. When I was disowned, she appeared in my little room above Madam Malkin's the next day. I’m sure Mother was furious. She could’ve sold her for a profit.” Pansy rubbed Jenny’s back, “Not that anyone would want you since you're a mangy, old thing.” Jenny blew a raspberry but stroked her head. Pansy’s earliest memory was holding Jenny's paw walking away from her yelling parents.  

“So this wasn’t just about _gathering_ silk?”

“Charlie, I told you this is about my business. That is  _actually_ my nest egg. If I can make Acromantula silk here in Britain, I can cut costs by half, if not more. I’m going to put that _cow_ Madam Malkin out of business in a year, and those _harpies_ Twilfitt and Tattings in three.” 

He let out a low whistle. “What did they ever do to you?”

“Everything.”

He leaned back with arms crossed over his chest, “You remind me of a dragon. They bide their time, but they get you in the end. The worst burn I ever got was from a young female. Her eggs were sterile, but she wouldn’t give them up. I was the unlucky wizard who had to take them away. She let them go. But three months later I was cleaning her scales, and she let me get real close, then _whoosh,_ she roasted half my body. They had to portkey me to the magical side of Colţea Hospital. It took three times before my ear grew back. George was jealous.” 

Pansy gagged a bit. “That is so disgusting.”

“Do you want to see the scars?” He started untucking his shirt. 

She looked away. It was such an innocent question, not a come on at all, but her stomach fluttered, and her cheeks were on fire. “Maybe some other time.” She could smell him, the refresher charm had lasted, but underneath she caught the scent of sweat, warmth, and red.  If red had a smell, it would be Charlie.  

They reached the gates, and it was awkward for a moment. “Tea is at four o'clock. Strays are welcome. Especially if they wash.” She sniffed, hoping it read as haughty not desperate to get one more whiff of him before apparating away.

* * *

She spent the next few days situating the eggs in the hothouse she built in the backyard. Andromeda had drawn the line at creatures in the house, especially spiders. She hated their hairy legs. 

Pansy had stripped down to her sports bra and yoga pants, sweating like liar fighting veritaserum, in the humid room. She was fussing with the nutrient drip system, which was being completely uncooperative. The solution smelled like liquid garbage, but it would jumpstart the spiderlings' development. In the wild, Acromantula eggs sacs would be tucked into some unfortunate creature the mother had stunned and slashed. The blood and gore would seep into the sac feeding the spiderlings. After they hatched, they ate their way out. The knock on the door startled her, and she managed to spray herself with the goo.

She looked up and saw red, ginger to be exact, as Charlie stepped into the room. "Shut the cursed door, Weasley. You’re letting all the heat out.” She had been thinking of him almost nonstop since she left Hogwarts and now he was here. She had turned back to the drip, but she wasn’t concentrating on it. Of all the times for him to show up, it would be when she looked awful and smelled even worse. She had such rotten luck. She could feel him eyeing her. Her hands were slippery from the goo, so the connector kept slipping. Then big, scarred hand grabbed one of the pieces, and he slotted them together. Of course, it slid right into place for him.  

“You just need to wiggle a bit on the sides then _bam,_  push in,” He looked up at her with an innocent grin. Too innocent. He knew exactly what he was doing, _ruining another pair of her knickers_. His nose wrinkled and he pulled out his wand, “Can I return the favor and cast a ‘freshening charm? You smell like something died.”

Pansy cringed, he might have been starring in her most lurid fantasies, but she wouldn’t be starring in his. The smell of flowers from his charm filled the space. “Sorry, this apparatus got me. Thestral blood mixed with the bodies of brown marmorated stink bugs. Hagrid says it mimics what baby Acromantulas eat in the wild.” He looked around the room. Pansy had created a small, indoor forest filled with niches and spaces for the spiderlings to explore when they hatched. Not much was known about Acromantula young.  

“Nice setup, you seem quite keen. Not many people like them.” 

“Well, I can’t say I like them. But they’ll be part of my business. Besides, I spent an afternoon breaking my teeth on one of Hagrid's rock cakes to learn about the Acromantulas and all the things that can go wrong.” Pansy had worked hard to make sure that nothing would. “I have grey hairs now worrying about it.”

“Can't seem ‘em, you look fine to me.” His cheeks pinked, and he went quiet. “But you smell…”

“Awful yes. I’m going inside to wash.”

“Oh, I’ll come with you.” 

Pansy bit back. ‘Sure, you can soap my back.’ Just imagining him naked, wet, and behind her was making her clench with need.  

She missed the first part of the tea, but from the look of relief on both Charlie and Meda’s faces, she gathered it had been awkward. Teddy was trying to sneak a biscuit, Pansy swooped in and tossed him in the air. “Biscuit thief! Do you know the punishment for biscuit thieves in the house? TICKLES.” He let out a peal of giggles. When Pansy looked up, she saw that both Charlie and Meda were smiling. 

“Your mom used to steal biscuits that way too.” Teddy stopped mid-wiggle and turned to Charlie. 

“You knew my mum?”

“Yeah, we were friends at school. She was brilliant.”

Teddy plonked down in front of Charlie and peppered him with questions. The boy’s eyes were as big as saucers. Not many people came to visit the Cottage.  Few of Tonk’s friends had survived the War. It was a rare treat for Teddy to hear stories about when his mum was young. From the tears shining in Meda’s eyes, it was special for her too. As Charlie talked, Teddy's hair grew redder. It wasn’t hard to imagine what Charlie's child would look like, not that she wondered about that, _at all_.

He stayed for hours.  After his fifth hug from Meda and the third time they had peeled Teddy off his leg, Charlie declared, “I really am leaving this time.” Pansy walked with him to the outer wards in silence. 

“You smell better.”

As pick-up lines went, it wasn’t the worst. Not the best, but she could work with it. Pansy had always been the seeker when it came to boys. It would be nice to be the snitch, just once, but she wasn’t going to risk it. Before he apperarted, she would grab him by his robes and snog him a good one. 

With a cough, he said, “I didn't just come here for Andromeda and Teddy. I’ve been thinking about you.”

This was going to be easier than she thought, “Oh, _have_ you now?” She allowed herself a smirk. 

“Would you be upset if I kissed you? I feel like someone that almost got me eaten by Acromantulas so that she can corner the domestic silk market is the kind of woman I should ask before I kiss. You might eat your lovers.” 

“Gross. And I believe the term you are looking for is am- _bitch-_ ous _._ ” Pansy gave him her bedroom eyes and leaned into him. The kiss was nice. Loads of lip, firm enough to feel, but still soft. She melted a bit. With one hand holding the back of her head and the other on her hip, she felt surrounded. Then his hand dropped lower, grabbing her bottom and pulling her closer. He traced his tongue against her lips. _This is getting interesting_. She opened her mouth, and he deepened the kiss. It took a few tries to find the right amount of wetness. But when he used the tip of his tongue to stroke against hers, she stopped thinking. Though it could have been because she was breathless, he broke the kiss. She gulped in a breath; the blood pounded in her ears, and stars dazzled her eyes.

“So, I’d like to come again.” 

 _And again, and again, and again. “_ Well, you didn’t get crumbs everywhere, so I guess you can come back.” He smiled and bent down, kissing the back of her hand like some Sacred Twenty-eight scion. She knew that even if she lived to be three-hundred-years-old, she would never forget the feeling of his massive hand holding her tiny one so gently. _And that's another pair of knickers ruined_.  

* * *

He came to tea each week. Sometimes he would find her in her workroom or out in the hothouse fretting over the eggs. They still hadn’t hatched, and she was getting nervous. Each week, before he left, they would share a single, mind-blowing, hot-as-blazes kiss that left her wanting. At night when she finished touching herself, she sighed Charlie's name. She couldn't wait anymore.

The next day, after their kiss Pansy clutched a handful of his robes and asked, “Don't you like me? What are you waiting for?”

He was silent, his eyes darting back and forth, “Of course I like you, but I don't want to push it. I don't want to scare you away.”

 _Was he joking?_ “Is Mr. Big Dragon Tamer afraid of a little witch?”

He looked her up and down, “Not a little witch - grown-up, powerful, a bit scary.” He touched her hair. “Beautiful.”

That was it. They were having sex today. She grabbed his hand and started walking toward the house. Then she saw the hothouse. No, they were having sex _right now_. 

She changed course, and he followed, scooping her up when he saw the building. _Clever Boy._ She locked her legs around his waist and arms around his neck, while she kissed every part of him she could reach. His hands were full of her arse. “So perfect," he whispered between kisses. 

He kicked the door open and carried her inside. Looking around, he parked her bottom on the ledge, where she wrote notes and prepared the nutrient solution. His hands were everywhere: up, down, along her legs, brushing her sides. She shivered at the light touches. He was holding back to make her want it, and she was desperate. 

She reached for her wand. One of the advantages of being a clothing designer was knowing how clothes came together or apart. With _a Cadunt Seorsum,_ her clothes ripped apart at the seams, and she was naked. 

“Neat trick.”

“Less talking, more touching. And kissing.”

“Smart and beautiful.” No woman gets tired hearing that, even if it's not true. Pansy didn’t feel beautiful, but she could almost believe it when he said in that way, quiet with just a hint of reverence in the second syllable. 

“Wanna show me your scars, Professor?”

Charlie tore off his robes and shirt and began to unbuckle his trousers. At the harsh clank of the buckle, Pansy leaned back; she wanted to see this. He slid everything down, and his cock sprang free. It was always a little shock to be confronted with an erect penis, doubly so when it was nestled in a thatch of dark ginger hair. He had a dragon tattooed over puckered skin that covered his stomach, flank, and back. The dragon was flexing and moving. 

“You like him?”

Pansy reached out and touched the dragon. The skin was rough from the burn, and with the tattoo, it looked like scales. “It's amazing work.”

He waggled his eyebrows at her and dropped to his knees, pulling her towards him. His hand smoothed over her bare thighs. _Oh, so this is where it’s going_. She let her legs fall open as she leaned back on her hands. He started on the left, bending to lick the inside of her knee, followed by a nip and nibbles all the way where her thighs met. He was so close, and she could feel his hot breath, right there. 

But he stopped. Pansy groaned. Smirking, the complete arsehole kissed the inside of her knee on the other side. She understood symmetry was beautiful, but right now she was certain symmetry was overrated. Her legs did not give a flying fuck about equal attention.  

When he got to the top, she thought for sure he would dive in and lick her from bottom to top, or top to bottom. She didn’t care as long as he just did something right where she needed him. But once again, the arsehole stopped. And he started kissing up her left leg again _from her ankle._ Oh, she was going to go to battle with this man. She grabbed a handful of hair so he would look up. “Charlie, please.”

“Please what, M’lady?”

 _Not this again._ “Don’t make me beg, Charlie.” His innocent look was fooling no one. “Please, just do it.”

With a grin, “I am doing _it._ I’m kissing your lovely, long legs. Just like I wanted to when I watched you stalk through the woods in your high heeled boots. I dream about those boots.”

Pansy grit her teeth. This man was insufferable. Why were all Weasley’s such gits? “Not _it_ with my legs.“ She pointed to her clit. “Here, please here.”

“Oh come on, be a filthy little witch. Say what you want,” his voice was a low growl, “and I’ll give it to you.” 

 _Wicked man._ “Fine, I want you to lick me until I scream. And then fuck me until I forget my name.”   

“Well done, M’lady, now what is the magic word?”

For a second Pansy considered saying _now,_ but that would only draw out this fucking torture. “Please, Charlie.”

“As you wish.” He drove his middle finger into her, and his mouth was clamped over her clit. It had been so long since anyone had worshiped her with their mouth, and Circe, Morgana, and Nimue did it feel good. She threaded her hand through his thick hair and pulled, moaning as he licked faster. When she thought she would shatter, he would slow to gentle lapping. He hummed and used his teeth, scraping lightly; pleasure just a tick away from pain. She was panting, but when she locked eyes with him, she gasped, "More.”

He obliged by inserting a second finger. She'd thought it couldn't get any better, but his fingers were giving her something to clench around. His other hand was on her hip, with his thumb making slow circles. She tried to focus on that and not on the overwhelming urge to break. But she couldn’t stop it. The orgasm hit her like the Hogwarts Express. She clenched her legs around his face. She was sure she was hurting him, but she couldn’t stop herself.  

She leaned against the wall behind her and loosened her grip on his face. He sat back on his heels and gave her such a smirk, so pleased with himself. And after that performance, she was willing to agree. She leaned forward to kiss him, to fall on his cock, or to declare him the lover of the century when movement out of the corner of her eye stopped her. 

The egg sac had thinned to where they could see the spiderlings. She knew they would hatch soon, but it appeared they would be hatching _now_. Of course, they would hatch as she was about to be shagged. Pansy's luck was the worst. The grey pouch split and what looked to be a few dozen spiders the size of shoes came running around. Pansy sprang off the bench and was horrified when she saw one of the larger spiders eating one of its siblings. “My profits!” She grabbed her wand and started levitating the remaining spiders into different sections of the room. Charlie joined in after pulling his trousers up, still loose at his waist. They managed to get the remaining spiderlings separated. “How many are there?” They tallied their total, and only twenty-three were left. She had lost at least half of her brood in the first few moments. 

While Charlie kept them separate, Pansy gathered the stink bugs, lightly stunning them and placing them in front of each spider. The babies devoured them. She did three rounds of bug feeds before the spiderlings were calm and sated. Most had retreated into the foliage to rest. 

She picked one unusually large Acromantula who had eaten at least two of its siblings and twice the number of bugs. Mother Nature made most baby animals adorable but defenseless. Not so with the spiderlings, they were Pansy’s kind of creature. “Hello there my Pretty, are you going to spin me some lovely silk? I’ll give you more tasty insects.”  She wasn’t sure if they could speak yet but was pleasantly surprised when a squeaky little voice rasped, “Yes, Mummy.” and a thread of silk unwound from the spider’s spinnerets. 

* * *

“The dress is staying silver. Not pink. Not blue. Silver.” 

Narcissa raised a brow at Pansy, “Perhaps, silver-blue? I don’t want my daughter-in-law to look haggard at her own wedding. People will think she is pregnant already.” Narcissa turned to Hermione, clarifying, “Not that being pregnant already would be a bad thing.” 

Meda sniffed, “Narcissa, blue is cold. She’s warm colors. Pink is much better.”

Pansy really didn’t want to have this discussion yet again, "The _Dress_  will be neither, it is silver. End of story. No other colors.” The older witches ignored her. 

“Blue.”

“Pink.”

“Blue.”

Narcissa was the first to throw a hex. Pansy saw it, not that she would ever confirm or deny it. It turned Meda’s hair a lovely shade of blue. “Here try the blue. I think you'll agree it is perfect.”

Meda was the stronger caster, and she turned Narcissa pink. All of Narcissa, hair, skin, and clothes. “Once upon your dreams, Cissa. You look _absolutely lovely_ in pink. Not peaky _at all._ ”

The color-changing hexes flew fast and furious. Pansy and Hermione took cover under Pansy’s work table. They emerged to the two sisters dotted in more colors than they knew names for. Pansy let out a squeal. She had forgotten to throw up a shield charm over the dress. 

Somehow during the fight, their spells had collided with the dress. It was now blue. Narcissa raised a superior eyebrow. 

“Look," said Hermione. As they watched, the dress’ color changed. It started at the bottom hem, shifting from blue to light blue gradually turning purple, then rose then a light pink. No one part of the dress was the same color; it was like watching dawn break on the garment. Just as the entire dress had become pink, the process reversed and one of the shoulders began to darken until the pink gown had become blue again.   

* * *

Epilogue

Hermione’s dress made the _Daily Prophet’s_ front page. It wasn’t just a simple color-changing dress; it was it _The Sunrise to Sunset Dress_. It had a two page spread in _Witch Weekly_. Pansy’s color-changing fabric offered more colors and combinations than any other designer previously. It became the ultimate fashion statement to wear _Pansy_. When she opened Pandora’s Box the following week, she was sold out within hours. 

But the Auror department was more interested in the fifty charms and wards she was able to weave into the silk fabric, at half the cost of their current supplier. There was nothing better than Acromantula silk for lining protective garments, but it was so expensive, usually only the chest was protected. The Ministry's commission and Charlie's single-minded destruction of her undergarments had spawned a new line for Pandora's Box of magical undergarments. 

Eight months later and with intercession from Hermione, Minerva granted Pandora’s Box the right to make Hogwarts uniforms. She celebrated by asking Charlie to marry her.    

Fifteen months later, Goyle’s construction company razed Madam Malkin’s shop to the ground. She was building a showroom and a production house in its place. She had fallen off her schedule of taking out competitors, but morning sickness was a bitch. 

Two more children followed, Pansy never did get around to putting Twilfitt and Tattings out of business - her mother had to shop somewhere after all.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Caution Shameless Self- Rec**  
> I will be writing a prequel to this story which explores just how Hermione and Draco got together. It's one I've had in my files but I dusted off for the Dramione Remix Challenge #10 which will be revealed starting on September 8th. I can't say much but I will say the fabulous movie _LadyHawke_ inspired me. 
> 
> If you like Pansy and want more of her. I would recommend [Coven](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15234645/chapters/35334750) by Naidhe. The tags may put you off, they did for me at first, but it seems they are there for non-consent as part of the blood magic. It's an imaginative reworking of sixth-year canon. I love it to bits.


End file.
